Sunday, March 31, 2013

Little Walks and Talks

He promises he won't bite
She wonders if he lies
He says he's not looking for a fight
And she knows that can't be right

Because they've both seen enough 
Because they're both pretty smart 
And they both would never have thought
Of the dangers coming from these little talks

He promises he is open minded
And she wonders if she really is too
He promises that he won't try to convince
And she knows she will not hold back

Because they've both seen enough 
Because they're both pretty smart 
And they both would never have thought
Of the dangers coming from these long walks

He says he just wants to ask something
She knows he not to believe him 
He wonders if she will ever really hear
And she wonders what brings him such fear

Because they've both seen a bit
But neither feels like they can defend it
And they both would never have thought
Of the secrets hidden behind their own locks

He won't try to convince her anymore
And she has also decided to shut her door
And instead they just sit and watch tv 
Choosing comfort over true intimacy 

Because they've seen whats around the bend
And they both know how this tragic tale ends
And neither would have ever thought 
Love harms the lips that remain unlocked


Saturday, March 30, 2013

Rock and Sand

He is constant and unchanging
He is fixed and never fading
He is strong and unmoving
He is sure and untouchable
At least that is how they say it
But can you ask yourself if that is true
Then why was there inconsistency
Why the change that occurred time and time again
How could things once fixed be undone
How could things once important fade away
Look at the picture He has painted
Read the story He had them write for you
Would you think of it as unchanging
When He told Hezekiah you will die
And Hekekiah cried and begged for more time
And He changed his mind
This is one example of many
Argue it if you like
It is the truth
Either He does change and change His mind
Or the one who wrote those words did not write His words
Either is an unsettling answer
And do you know why?
Because life is so unstable and unsure
We long for, we crave the feel of certainty
We desire and need a sense of the sure
And this would remove a foundation of stone
And replace it with a foundation of sand
At least, until that sand is made into cement
Until that cement dries and is suddenly better than stone
Sand can be worked and strengthened to concrete
Sand can be refined and made into beautiful glass
Stone limits and can only be chipped away until nothing remains
Until the stone eventually becomes sand
Sacreligious as this may sound ask yourself this
What did Abraham and Enoch and Noah and Melchizadeck have to look to
They had no stone and only sand
And yet they were called "Blessed" "Favored" "Friend" and "Righteous"
So maybe sand is not the problem here
Maybe it is okay to question established rules
To question their actual morality (no I will not cut off your hand)
Maybe it is okay for things to change
Yes this applies to "current events" (not to be subtle about it)
But it applies to everything that comes after
This is a conversation we must have
If we don't switch to sand and learn to work it then all too soon our rock will weather away
And we will have nothing but sand and uncertainty to stand on

Friday, March 29, 2013

The Smart Guy

Alex is a smart guy
He knows how to play the game
He tells her he likes her a little
And then he pretends that he doesn't anymore
And she suddenly wonders what happened
She wonders if it is something she's done
And she wonders what Alex is thinking
And she wonders about Alex a lot
And in her mind Alex becomes ellusive
Seductive and strong
Harboring some secret hatred
And she hoped and doesnt that its against her
Alex is a smart guy
He knows what to do next
He calls her late when she is sleeping
But then won't answer her texts
And makes cryptic facebook statuses
And has inside jokes with all her friends
And she suddenly feels so mixed up
And she suddenly wonders why she feels this way
And she begins to questions what Alex means to her
And wonders more about that boy
Alex is a smart guy
He knows this cannot last
Because he only knows how to play the game
He doesn't know how to make it last
He only knows that now he has to make it end
Because someone is going to get hurt and lose face
And Alex has played the game too long
He cannot lose even if he tries
So she doesn't know why he starts giving her attention
And she doesn't know why but she's glad that he does
And she doesn't know why but she's losing interest
And she doesn't know why but she thinks she might be done
Alex is a smart guy
He knows how to play the game
Alex is a smart guy
But he doesn't know how to get out

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Thinking

She sits in a Parisian cafe 
And dreams of England 
Holds the cup close
And breathes in spice from India
And thinks about the boy in Alabama
And thinks about the summer in Hawaii
And wonders about the friend she left in Australia
And wonders about the friend who left her for Australia
And all these things bring her closer to the unsettling feeling
That things are much larger than she knows
And that she has a small time here
And she has not done enough
So she stands out in the London rain and watches the sky
As the sunlight slants sideways through lances of rain
And she thinks about how her best friend died
That day in the carcrash in the Arizona desert
And how her mom is sick in a hospital in Hawaii
And how her friend in Australia met her friend in Australia
And wonders if they will have a boy or girl
And whether her nail color is too bright
And whether she will ever meet Mr Right
And wonders about the boy she left in Alabama
And tells herself she does not miss him
And then she stands on the bank of the Mississippi
It's nightime and the air is thick like syrup
A glow of a tent to her left comes with shouting
And singing and the laughter of children 
The smell of caramel corn and firelies mix in the air
The smell of the river mud and the hair of the boy from Alabama greet her
She does not turn to face him
She cannot bare to see his eyes again 
She wishes she could touch him
She wishes she could let him know she is there
He is sad as he looks off into the distance
The moonlight flickers back at them on the water
And he stands on the edge of the pier 
His long fingers buried in his pocket
And he talks to her as if she is there
And he tells her that he feels so guilty
That he wished it had been him and not her
That he wished they had stayed home that night
And that he wished there were no drunk drivers
And he steps off of the pier and says her name
And she is with him
The world is blue and brown and black
The world is soft and cool and slow and thick
The world is finally quiet enough for him to hear her
And bubbles fly from his mouth at the sound of her wings
"I missed you too."

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Toxic Conversations

So shall we sit and speak of other things
Of sealing wax and cabbages and whether we have wings
Lets turn the tv off
Lets sit a while and talk
Lets make eye contact long
And just not mention
The unspeakable thing
There is a topic
It's toxic
And I know eventually we will visit it
And as we writhe in the toxic ooze
The radioactive sludge drip neon green from our bare skin
Rivulets of poison run off us like rain showers
Acid stinging the corners of our eyes
When we rise from the hazmat spill 
Our skin glowing yellow with radiation
And our hair sparking with hydrocarbons
Will you still kiss me then 
When you realize that I do not believe
In the existence of Alaska
Will you still kiss me then 
When you realize I need to see
And sometimes I accidentally do
Will you still kick me when 
I bow down to your iron will
And worship your cast gods
Then what 
Words and words and words
And the breaking apart of things
And the flight of happiness 
And the deep darkness of disspair
Pain too 
And this one thing
Wisdom
I am no prophet
The greatest prophet of the future is the past
Can we reconcile our pasts
Let us sit then and speak of other things
Of ships and sails and ceiling wax and not the King of Kings



Friday, March 22, 2013

Exit Music

She has taught me to be honest
So that instead of keeping poison inside
I release it like a cloud of impending death
Like a gaschamber showerhead
Like listening to ukelele covers of Radiohead
Like hearing the exit music playing early
Because the stage is lit too poorly
And for a long time caution kept me steady
Kept my mouth shut and my heart heavy
But now its over and they have flown the coop
And acid rain will make your pretend flowers droop
And this false color photo will change to black and white
And this false front on our lives will suffer bliss and blight
Honesty is after all what she taught me

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Two

There are two worlds
They lay upon each other
Like leaves from the maple tree
Clipped from skeletal branches
By crisp autumn fingers
And gently laid over each other
Like pages of a book
In the one world things are blue
And the sky is black all the time
The water is salt and the air is cold
And people are each attached at the waist to a ship
When they laugh and they cry
Their sails billow out full and pregnant
And they are sped on their way
Blasting through arctic air
Because here there is no sun
There is only ever the dancing lights
And shades of starlight foreign to nightime
In this world the man is a whisper
In this world he hides on wings of shadow
And he draws tears from the eyes of sleeping children
And feeds on the unspoken dreams hidden there
And in this world he rises up on the North Wind
And hides away into the shadows of the Winter
To his house carved out of horn and ivory
And his inner chamber lit with bottled moonlight
That he uses to look into the glass upon the floor
The glass through which he sees
The other world and her
In the other world things are orange
And the sky is red like burnt rust all the time
There is no water in this world only blood and fire
And the air smells of spices and coffee and desire
Here there are no people
Only ever him and her
And this world is unstable
It grows and shrinks about them
Sometimes it is only as big as the inside of his arms
Other times it stretches outwards like a breath
And expands out to the starless crimson sky
In this world she talks to him and he is honest
In this world he talks and is not silent
And their home is a garden in the East
And when they go into the abandoned bower
They pass beneath a sword of flame that touches their tongues
And they hold hands and breathe in the smoke and the fire
And they lie underneath a honeysuckle bush
And as they sleep and their sweaty skin is pressed against each other
The nectar from the flowers fall on the man's back
And leaves drops of sticky honey like small footprints
They love here but they do not make love
Though they know of it
Many times has he taken her to see the tree
The tree they cannot touch and cannot speak of
The tree covered in flowers that are fire
And burn with smoke and incense
Like a pillar of sacrifice constantly luring
And never being consumed or satisfied
She knows about the tree and what it is meant to do
At least she thinks she has heard stories
But she has never tasted of the fruit of the tree
Because this tree has not made fruit for them
And so they stand underneath the open flowers
And as thick globs of nectar fall like resin
He puts out his finger and catches a sticky string
And brings the golden ambrosia to his lips
And offers her a simple and chaste kiss
And she kisses and sleep takes her
And he leaves her there under the tree to dream of what could be
And makes his way to the place where the four rivers flow
And finds the small pool there
Lined with blue narcissus dipping down
And when he looks through the still surface
He can see the other world and the other him
And they both reach out and touch their fingers
But they can never seem to touch
And the one in the blue world wonders
If he can find her, the girl in the garden
If he can find the her in his world
Will it break the mirror
Or will it mean the tree in the garden will finally bare fruit
And will the girl in the garden finally eat of the fruit
And finally become like a god
Having two worlds with a piece of glass in between
Having two natures not at war but working in harmony
In tandem towards a goal of eternal subjugation
Will the small taste of power be enough to corrupt her
And the man in the garden wonders if maybe he should stop
Never come back to the pool by the rivers
Maybe be content with chaste kisses
And small drops of ambrosia
Maybe be content with losing the darkenss
And be content with living forever in that unstable world
They both know there will be a day
When the glass will shatter and they will become one
They both know there will be a day when the tree's flowers will wilt
And the fruit will hang full and ripe and low and heavy from those branches
And they know she will go walking through the garden
And he will meet her there at the tree, at the centre
And he will say, "Will one quick taste really kill you?"
And she will say, "No, but I'm not ready yet."
And he will say, "Doesn't it look good. Don't you want it?"
And she will say, "It does look good. I do want it. But I can't."
Because she also has another world that she looks into
And she also has another she that looks back at her.
And he will say, "A little more knowledge is never bad. Why don't you know me a little bit more?"
And she will say, "Is it really this important to you? Do you know that I will get the worse end of the deal?"
And he will say, "I love you."
And she will take the fruit and eat of it and her eyes will be opened
And all the walls of mirrors will break and all the other shes will be inside of her
And all the other hes will be inside of him
And they will have to live with the knowledge that they chose the world of the garden
The world of blood and fire and smoke
The world of desire and anger and passion
That the world of love will be their world
Until the glass walls come back up again
Until he is trapped in the blue world away from her
And they both hope that this story hasn't been written yet
And they both fear that this end may be inevitable
And that they are stuck carried along by a current
Towards a wall of ice looming ahead
Like there are two worlds that lay upon each other
Like two leaves of a folio
Like two chapters of a book

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Truth or Dare

It is much too hard for me

Not to lie to you
Not to tell you what you want to hear
Because I know what you want
At least I think I know
And I'll tell you what you want to hear
So then you'll be happy
And you won't ever leave me
Oh wait
This is sounding so pedantic and childish
Keep you happy
So you won't make me unhappy
Because it's all about being happy
And making each other happy all the time
Instead I will practice this new
Art of disappointment
I won't live up to your expectations
And I will draw back a bit
Inwards further
This is my problem
It is a foolish problem
It is a childish problem
But then we've always known
That all little boys in love
Are nothing but children
This is my problem
When I feel you there
So close
So near
In my arms you fit so perfectly
And you fulfill me on so many levels
Budding joy and spreading peace
Releasing comfort and disappearing my troubled mind
In you I find that place
The rest from my daily toil my soul craves for
And so
In some way it is only fair
It is only right
That I repay all that you are for me
The way that you make me feel
By making you feel good too
It is childish
It is futile
But you make life so bareable
I want to make yours bearable too
So I bring you pretty things
Things that I don't really care for
Things that I think you will like
So I do so many things
Things that I would not normally do
Things that I think you want me to
And I listen to all the things you have to say
Things I know are vapid and things I disagree with
Things I think you must think so important
And I do all this because I hope it makes you happy
Or I would
But I have this intuition
This strange feeling that guides my lips
It says
You do not want me to make you happy
You have tasted too much of the world's bitter salt
You have known too much bitterness and sorrow
To believe in a person who can make you
Perfectly happy
And so against my own better judgement
Or rather
Against my own natural instincts
I will speak the truth to you
I will not try to make you happy
I will be myself
And that means
Wanting to hold you
Not always but most of the time
Wanting to help you
Not always but some times
It means loving fully when we are together
And it means doubting that love the second we are apart
It means staying up until 5 am
Rewriting this stupid poem
And taking out all of the cliches and lies
Until I can say honestly
It may be hard for me
My self may fight against it
But I will tell you the truth
Even though I love you

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Diotama's Ladder on a Rocking Chair


A rocking chair
In an empty room
Where two lovers once talked of love
Never made love
Never could find that magic switch
To turn the wheelchair off
And the lights on
And make this prison a home
So instead they listened to the Preacher
And found the flaws in Lysistrata's ending
And found the flaws because they had no ending
But there are some movies they could watch
Escape through a silver screen and a small pipe
But the end was still just out of their reach
Because a rocking chair
They just wanted to rock that chair
But the wheels keep sliding
Across the floor even when it's locked
And the brakes keep breaking
And the floor won't be shaking
And the neighbors won't be complaining
Because they want to rock that chair
That rocking rocking chair
Make it electric
And light up their worlds once again
So they'll make jokes about paralysis
And they'll make light about the chairs
Because its easier to talk about it from afar
Joke about it like its not their problem
And make out as if they aren't both paralyzed
With fear of the future and that rockless chair

Monday, March 18, 2013

A Contest of Derisions


The back and forth
Its a conversation
Its a new addition
Its a convocation
Exhilirating
And so frustrating
No one wants a fight
Because everyone wants to fight
And when no one is willing to let go
And when no one wants to be a loser
It means everyone loses in the end
Can she bare loss?
Can she endure the strain of time's gravelly flow?
Can they sing about each other?
Can they remember why they even came?
It is an argument
It augments
And it strains their private space
With notes and chords of malcontent
And the constant heartbeat of a song
And dischord of their minds
Shall the muses then sing
Shall they loving remember
The way that these words flew
As arrows and missles and never like a dove
Because the wings were dark ones
Ones of death and destruction
And the end of a small life
Maybe they should not speak
Can he do that to her?
Can he seal his lips, and his heart, and his mind?
Can they sit in silence instead
And no more talk such barbed sweet nothing
And no more break each other like waves on the rocks
Maybe
But it would take so much
Straining
Pushing
Praying
Revolting
And maybe just some luck
Whose will be greater
Why did they ever make this a competition
Instead of a conversation
She should ask
And he will never


Sunday, March 17, 2013

Then there is this

And then there's this
I think we won't work
And I lie in my bed
With what can only be called
Dread
I make my little plans
Of how this time I won't
Reach for you
Kiss you
Take your hand in mine
To clearly communicate
This feeling of impending something
Maybe nothing
But in the lonely hours I can't shake it
And I think I'd rather die
And then there's you
Your voice on the phone
The sudden lifting up
Like a curtain pulling back
Like the clouds blown away
The sun comes out and your voice pulls me up
Into a whirling mealestrome of thoughts
And ideas about the future and our day today
And I suddenly no longer feel
Anything
But hope and anticipation
And then there's me
And myself and my own insecurities
About us and about love and most importantly
About the true fragility of life
And the true nature and cost of attachement
And whether freedom from fear
Is not also barment from hope
And whether I have to face myself
When I hear your voice and when I'm alone
And then there's this
Growth

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Fear/Love

When I am with you
I feel
As I have not felt for so long
It goes beyond
And I fear this love
For it is a thing so delicate
I think
What if you were snatched away
A car accident
Or the drawn out process of slow decay
After a doctor visit
And a malignant prognosis
Or what if you should suddenly stop
Feeling this way towards me
As suddenly as you started
Or slowly grow cold towards me
As I slowly grew to love you
And what if love abandons us both
And we sit in silent self hatred
And spend the next forty years
Lying side by side and not saying anything
There is so much fear wrapped in you
But I can only feel it when we are apart
Together
I feel indominable
And I feel that I would never leave
And all would be well
And of course I fear you do not love me
Not as much as I you
I fear so many things
And their source is you
And their source is me
And I am sorry that I fear you
And I'm sorry that your love brings out the fear inside of me
And I don't really know
What's stronger
Fear
or Love

Friday, March 15, 2013

I Am No Gentleman

Justification
I have none for what I've done
You have been the party here 
Injured by my selfishness
Of all people poets are the most selfish 
We write songs and odes to the ubiquitous muse
And dare not wandered far from our pronouns 
Had I been a gentleman I would have said
Something
Sooner
Perhaps a word in private
Perhaps some other way than that
I could tell you I did not intend it
Any of it at all
I could tell you that I did not want
To tell you in such a sudden way
In the Hiroshima style
Or that I did not intend the news at all
That there was very little precognition 
That I was almost certain 
That things would have turned the other direction
But will that really absolve me?
My intentions, however base or nobel
They have not shaken hands with the outcome
And the end is still the same 
I have ill used you 
To toy with emotions I had no business toying with 
To act as some little boy unaware of his impact
Or the implications of his actions or words
No I take no shelter behind these hollow reasonings
I can at least do you the honor of admitting my fault
There may be too much of Rochester in me
Look beyond the good man and see the darkness
Look beyond the love story and see the selfishness
The self satisfaction 
The sick self sacrifice 
Because even though I'm writing this
Posting this admittance of guilt for all to see
If I were a gentleman I'd give you the thoughtfulness
To at least tell you face to face 
Or at least to give you a name
And not leave you playing guessing games
But as I've already established I guess
I am no Gentleman 

Thursday, March 14, 2013

The Pull


You pull one way
I another
And yet we seem to make our way
Slowly forward on this path
Sure we could go faster
Traveling in the same direction
But when have either of us ever taken
The easiest way
So we will pull away
And we will keep pulling